


Ohana

by Gemma_Inkyboots



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Inferno is SO PROUD, Jazz is the biggest mama chocobo, LITERALLY, M/M, Mechpreg, Megatron is an ex-parrot, Multi, Prowl is just surprised nobody else knows this, Ratchet and Dead End - kindred spirits in banter, Ratchet is not amused, Red Alert rides to the rescue, Snark, Wildrider/Dinobots BroTP, carrying mechs are hot, headcanons, kinkmeme fill, officer kink, that's a tiny forge in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemma_Inkyboots/pseuds/Gemma_Inkyboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(or, How Prowl Got His Groove Back and Really Threw Everyone For A Loop.)</p><p>The war ends with a single shot, and now everyone has to figure out how they're going to get by in the aftermath. It turns out that the Decepticons are just as susceptible to home comforts and playing in the lake as the Autobots are, and everyone gets to go home.</p><p>Well, except for Megatron, but Drag Strip is minding that less and less these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ohana

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raisedbymoogles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/gifts).



> This was originally posted at TFficmeme on Dreamwidth for the delicious Raised by Moogles - prompt to be found here: http://tfficmeme.dreamwidth.org/1003.html?thread=43243, along with another prompt I can't find again for the life of me, of the Stunticons being wildly curious about mpreg as it's so different compared to how they came into the world and pairing up with a carrying mech. This contains much, much headcanon on the topic of carrying, the role of Praxian priests in society pre-war and an AU of fixing the travesty of Jazz dying in the Bay movies and Prowl in TF:TM. Warnings for a single character death right at the beginning.

Smoke clogging his sensors, alerts turning to alarms overlaying his HUD in bright scarlet urgency, all ignored for the thrill of throwing his weight and power against his eagerly-hated adversary - Optimus Prime, one of the most fun constants of his world thus far. Hands locked together, pushing, straining, gaining ground only to be thrown crashing to the ground and then _forgotten about,_ the insult! - as Megatron roared across the battlefield.

"Let's see how your lieutenant looks in _pieces,_ Prime!"

One of the Autobots, a black and white one he hadn't had reason to remember yet, wriggling like one of the strange squirming things that lived alongside the _Victory_ in Megatron's powerful hands, scrabbling at the arm around his throat with tensors at breaking point as Megatron smirked at Prime's horror and that _still_ didn't make up for being _ignored-_

-then something small and bitterly sharp disappeared into the gap between Megatron's arm and chest plating with a wet-sounding _thwip-_

-then Megatron's brief, scornful surprise melted into agonised horror as the acid pellet burst and burned into his chest-

-then the black and white 'bot thrashed out of Megatron's strangely uneven grip and things started _melting_ through the gunmetal shoulder-

-and then Prime's other black-and-white lieutenant appeared in Motormaster's line of sight, optics blazing and mouth a thin grim line and the rifle braced steady as Earth's orbit in his hands, and Drag Strip jolted out of recharge with his fans spinning and his plating already hot.

Slaggit. And just whose recharge fantasy had that been, anyway?

\------------------------------

For reasons as yet unknown to sensible mechs, the Aerialbots had decided to bait Skywarp with half a cube of high grade. The result to a nutritionally deficient Seeker was Skywarp winding up terrifyingly overcharged from that alone, and alternating between sniffling and singing in a raucous off-key warble about nothing the senior officers, or a mortified Silverbolt, wanted the younger fliers to repeat.

While Ratchet cursed and glared the Aerials into submission and Skywarp curled into a rather pathetic heap on the medbay berth with a death-grip around Thundercracker's waist, Prowl quietly made a note on his datapad - it seemed the Decepticons were in worse basic repair than they had supposed. The Autobots had wondered about the state of their once-enemies' systems after subsisting on what rations they managed to carry off in raids for some time, and now they had plenty of chances to observe for themselves. If Optimus hadn't already ruled that the Decepticons should have all the supplements to their fuel that they needed, Ratchet would have thrown the lot of them into a vat of energon-mineral mix and left them to soak until he was satisfied.

It would have helped if the Decepticons would allow Ratchet to examine them properly in person rather than insisting he drew his conclusions from the Constructicons' scans, but it seemed the Autobots' much-beloved medic had something of an overblown reputation amongst the other faction. Something about drop-kicking Thundercracker and reformatting mechs into dodgems... Whatever it was that had caused it, those Decepticons who warily agreed to carefully-proscribed good behaviour and a constant escort in exchange for the freedom to move about the Ark as they pleased had the bizarre habit of spinning on their thruster and running in the opposite direction whenever they saw Ratchet coming. Most peculiar.

Still, it certainly made the Constructicons very polite when Ratchet demanded they assist him with Skywarp. He'd also demanded to drag in each Decepticon one at a time for a thorough physical, but given the brief look of absolute terror on the faceplates of the Decepticons within hearing range, Optimus had - for the moment - declined.

Abandoning that processor thread, Prowl pinged Ratchet, Optimus and - with a moment's thought and no few misgivings - Sideswipe, with a note that perhaps their next most immediate concern should be to increase the gain of their renewable energy experiments. If the Seekers needed something more than the standard ration of energon for everyday functioning, either in nutritional content or sheer quantity, they would need to expand their efforts in energon production as well as the trace elements Ratchet proscribed as needed. They would have to increase production either way, with the remaining Decepticons teetering on the fine line between 'prisoners of war' and 'Primus, they make me want to feed them'. Besides, they hardly needed to worry about Decepticons smashing solar panels and exploding hydroelectric units when they were the ones receiving the benefits of said renewable resources.

For now, the next order of business was that Prowl would have to arrange a suitable punishment duty for Skywarp's 'visitors' for getting him overcharged. The normally mouthy Seeker had been veering between destructive, irrational behaviour and shaken disbelief after Megatron's deactivation, and thinking it was funny to see him drunk and clinging to Thundercracker was both highly irresponsible in the name of inter-faction relations and painful to watch.

Leaving Silverbolt to drag his flock to their hangar and continue their chastisement, Ratchet to scatter the Constructicons before him for First Aid's medical education, and fielding the incoming comm of Righteous Fury from Starscream himself, Prowl proceeded at a studied, measured pace out of the medbay and in the direction of Optimus' location marker.

\----------------------

_"What is going on here."_

Motormaster froze at the whipcrack of that Tone, fist still raised, just long enough for Optimus to recover from his shocked stagger and slam the younger truck face-first into the mountain. He howled and lashed out in outraged humiliation, struggling to push up and round on the other, but Optimus braced his full weight at Motormaster's back and - it was wasted effort, yeah, but he couldn't just _stop._ At least, not until Prowl started marching over like Motormaster's own personal doom in shiny plating.

"Prowl," the Prime said cordially, without even the decency to sound like his fans were working hard at _all_ from...what could honestly only be called a surprise spat rather than a real fight yet. "Just a minor roadbump-"

"Roadbump?!" Motormaster howled, insulted past all dignity, and slammed both fists into the mountainside in a fit of temper since he couldn't reach to hit Optimus. "I'll show you who's-!"

"Optimus, _move!"_

The Prime was well trained. The words were barely out of Prowl's mouth, the first rumblings of loose earth and jarred rock only beginning to slide, and the massive mech stepped and twisted with the grace of a dancer to _throw_ Motormaster away from the rock face and out of the path of the small avalanche he'd caused.

Motormaster hit the ground with a crash, tearing up furrows of grass that drove into gaps in his armour as he skidded and rolled. Startled cries began sounding over the comm, the twitchy paranoid one babbling at full volume in Motormaster's audial and Starscream pitching a fit at no-one ever telling him what's going on in the other, but the words were blurred and he paid no heed to them.

A billowing dust cloud rolled over him before he'd even stopped moving, thick in his intakes and clogging his filters; for a moment all was blind noise and Earth in his mouth and nothing made sense as what sounded like half the dirt on the mountain came sliding and tumbling down on top of where he'd been standing a moment before.

Then, unsurprisingly, _typically_ for him, Optimus Prime hazed into view, his colours muted by dust and buried to the waist in dirt and still looking all fragging _noble._ Motormaster ground his denta until they sparked and itched to hit something again. Preferably the fracking Prime.

"Optimus!"

Prowl was fast, had to give him that. The moment the slide of dirt and rock had settled, the lighter mech was up and over onto the loose stuff and looking Optimus over. He couldn't hear what they said to each other over the grind of his denta, which only annoyed him more, and Motormaster refused to be flat on his face in the grass when Optimus was still - still! - sort-of-standing and doing that fragging noble hero thing even covered in slag.

"What did you do _that_ for?" he demanded, thumping up onto his feet and bristling despite the grass in his joints. "That was nothin'!"

Optimus reset his optics, but it didn't help with the dust. Dead End would've thought it was funny, or ironic, or whatever slaggin' stupid word he was using for 'funny' that day. "It is my duty as Prime, and as leader of the Autobots, to protect-"

"Frag your protection!" Motormaster roared, engine thundering in challenge. "Stunticons don't need protecting!" Fists clenched, he began to charge - and Prowl really _was_ fast, getting in front of him before he could get up speed.

"Stand _down,_ " Prowl snapped, that tone and his flashing optics as much a cut-glass danger warning as Megatron's raised fist and charged cannon had ever been. "Autobots protect each other, Motormaster, and you are included in that protection thanks to the end of the war. Optimus is our leader-"

"Like frag he is," Motormaster ground out, glaring at Optimus and not even getting any satisfaction at the looks on both their faces. " _He_ never beat Megatron, _you_ did. You're the boss of us, not him."

Prowl's expression, to his credit, momentarily froze rather than anything less diplomatic; Optimus' intakes sputtered noisily as his processor cranked up a gear trying to process what he'd just heard. "I am second in command of the Autobot forces," Prowl said slowly, trying to feel out something that had suddenly become as murky and ill-defined as the dust cloud.

"So?" Motormaster shrugged roughly; he fought the urge to rattle his plating and shake loose the dirt and grass he'd gouged into the gaps. "Doesn't matter. You're _their_ second, you're _our_ leader. Frag knows Starscream's got enough titles to handle."

\------------------

Prowl navigated the route to the berth in near-darkness. He offlined his optics and let his visual processing threads run down, his other sensors more than compensating for the lack of light, warning him of any new obstacles strewn across the floor before they became a problem. It had been a very, very long day... The incident with Motormaster and Optimus outside the Ark aside, there had been a hundred other arguments, near-fights, diplomatic pede-in-mouth incidents and worse to contend with. The worst by far had been an attempt at cross-faction bonding gone horribly wrong - an impromptu race down the corridors; a near-collision with Spike, Carly only just managing to haul the young man back in time; Wildrider getting more and more aggressive as he insisted that he 'so would have won' and not seeming to understand the cause of Bumblebee's fright-born fury...

The Decepticons may have lost the war, but Optimus was determined to come to a genuine peace agreement between their two factions. There were so few of them left...and with the Key to Vector Sigma lost, a very faint hope indeed of their race continuing. They still hadn't made contact with Ultra Magnus' group, even after Shockwave had loudly refused to believe any of the two factions' officers that Megatron was deactivated. The Guardian-model's reaction to the sight of Megatron's acid-riddled frame had been...difficult to watch even for the Autobots, and it was a guilty relief for the officers when Acid Storm had hesitantly stepped over to the monitor and taken over negotiations.

It had been a gruelling enough day that Prowl had left his post only half a shift after his duty shift had ended, and padded to his berth at last with heavy pedes. He settled on his side with one doorwing flat against the berth and the other upright, half-curled comfortably with his bumper and chevron almost touching the wall, and lay quietly in the dark as his battle computer cued up the defragmentation process.

"I wish I knew what makes Motormaster keep trying to attack Optimus," he murmured rather fuzzily into the padding of the berth. Ordinarily Prowl was not prone to talking to himself; as his tactical suite wound down for recharge, it minimised the processor threads he was currently working on but didn't halt them, which resulted in his being able to spend more hours 'working' even as he recharged. Not for nothing did Ratchet swear he was the worst workaholic of the lot, even when Prowl did get the proscribed period of shutdown - being able to enter a light-level recharge as his battle computer went over calculations that he could then work on immediately at the beginning of the next shift was a bonus to Prowl, but a nightmare for the medic who attempted to forcibly herd the Autobots into the land of the functional every other day.

On the strength of the current truce, Ratchet had finally browbeaten Prowl into one long-schemed-for victory - he'd insisted that the tactician spent at least three off-shifts per week recharging with the tactical suite firmly _off._ Prowl might have dodged it but for Optimus' worried optics and the hopeful, almost wistful note in his voice when the Prime repeated that the war was _over._ Prowl had grave, grave reservations and the calculations to back them up, but as time went by and the delicate, precarious, ready-to-be-shattered truce _held,_ and _kept_ holding despite each and every member of both factions managing to do something stupid and almost tipping the balance every single day...

He'd agreed, with multiple provisos attached, and then promptly recharged so deeply he missed his alarm, Red Alert increasing in volume over his comm, the Ops team breaking into his quarters in a panic and most of his duty shift. Prowl still twitched with mortification thinking about it.

Switching off his tactical suite to recharge also had the odd side benefit of freeing up his processor just as it was readying itself for shutdown. In this peculiarly disconnected frame of mind he'd made leaps of connective logic to rival the Head of Spec Ops himself, the extra processing power with no _focus_ spinning moonbeams from thin air, or so it seemed to Prowl after he woke. He'd sworn his berthmate to silence on the matter, on pain of procuring a human style couch and banishing him to it like that wretched soap opera that half the Decepticons were now _also_ addicted to. Primus.

An arm still slightly tacky from the washracks slipped around his waist; the familiar mixed blend of soap and polish drowned his chemoreceptors in a welcome wash of chemical analysis that always meant his partner.

"Sleep-thinkin' again, babe?" Jazz chuckled, nuzzling the back of Prowl's shoulder affectionately. Whatever Prowl might think of this alarming new tendency of his processor's - _or not so new after all,_ a faintly wistful thread threw out, one that had connotations of easy recharge and no nightmares of warfare, of that distant time when he had no concept of _warfare_ at all - Jazz thought it was adorable.

Prowl Disapproved of that word, especially when it was referring to him, but Jazz seemed so utterly charmed by the nonsense that Prowl connected together right before he went into recharge, often putting off his own rest to encourage it. Prowl disapproved of that as well, but Jazz had been coming back to their shared quarters quiet and tense and needing his own relief from the stresses of _making this work_ , and if a little nonsense soothed him...well, so long as Jazz didn't tell anyone else whatever nuts and bolts Prowl came out with, he allowed that it was more than tactically sound to let the Autobots' morale officer giggle at his expense. Prowl might Disapprove of being considered adorable, but being able to soothe the other half of his spark as Jazz had often comforted him was more than enough to compensate.

A dark hand stroked gently over his midriff, Jazz settling himself comfortably on the berth and drawing his hand back to settle on Prowl's hip. Prowl hummed softly, his optics offline and watching the sensor notifications sparkle like stars in the wash of warmth Jazz's hand left behind, glittering hard-edged data in a nebula of touch. Jazz chuckled again, his voice the whoompfing thump of a rocket's thrusters in space before Prowl absently remembered which way he should translate what he was hearing.

"Whatcha thinkin', gorgeous?" Jazz murmured, his thumb stroking the angled edge of Prowl's side. "Heard somethin' about Motormaster an' Optimus a second ago, there."

 _Motormaster and Optimus..._ Without the weight of an entire war's tactical data-processing armouring his thoughts, the two concepts connected in Prowl's mind with a skein of spiderweb - almost a fresh association, without the cloud of tactical if-then-therefore. They spun around each other, connected by a magnetic push-pull - Optimus attempting kindness, compassion, wisdom and charity, and Motormaster drawn towards him only to repel himself as hard as the younger mech could. Another association pinged, fine and fleeting and not catching for long - Spike with what he had called a paddle ball, striking a hard rubber ball that resisted impact but was flung back to the immovable paddle by the elastic holding them together nonetheless. It was apt, but too fast a thought to make it to his vocaliser before another, more solid connection was made - Slingshot. Slingshot, arguing with Silverbolt about formation practise. Slingshot, arguing with Blades about everything he could think of. Slingshot arguing with anyone, particularly anyone else flight-capable and _older_ that he felt was holding him back because _he_ was strong, _he_ was brave, and it wasn't fair they were there being strong and brave and smart and fast before he was sparked so he didn't get his fair share...

The connection held; proof gathered, a theory formed, a web grew. Motormaster might have entirely different reasons to continually attack Optimus, but looking at it again through the viewing glass of the Aerialbots, of a frustrated Silverbolt begging for answers to his stubborn, headstrong brother's resentment of simply _being sparked later..._

Optimus had beaten Motormaster enough times in enough fights to prove to even the most stubborn opponent that he was stronger, the better leader in terms of might-makes-right alone. That had been enough for Grimlock and the Dinobots; that thread glanced off as soon as it spun. He didn't attack any other Autobot, not seriously. There had been - still were - fights every day, scuffles between factions or between Autobots or between Decepticons. They were all the family they had anymore; if it could be something simple, so simple...

The web held, more threads adding in and only making it stronger, weaving it into a conclusion that seemed so logical Prowl had it on his glossa-tip before Jazz's thumb began the sweep back up his side.

"Optimus has to noogie Motormaster," he said sensibly, and couldn't think _why_ Jazz almost fell off the berth laughing.

\--------------

If Primus existed, Dead End mused, he had a foul sense of humour. When Blitzwing got cratered - which was a state as rare as their being fully fuelled at all, another sad constant of Dead End's thoroughly disappointing existence - he told rambling stories that made no sense, about Primus creating Transformers as mighty warriors to be the first line of defence against...something, he forgot what exactly but it was _really really bad,_ that they were his greatest and best hope for the universe, that they were the _dream,_ eight-bit, no-slaggin'-really. Dead End privately categorised this as another attempt to spin the war as proof positive that the Decepticons were destined to win, woo and go team et cetera, but he did find it rather humorous that they may well have been created solely to fight and die in a war they could not even remember, only to fight and die in a war of their own making first.

Was Primus disappointed, perhaps? Was that why he had inflicted a ranting medic exercising his decibels on Dead End, with no hope of escape? A merciful god would have at least dropped one of his brothers in with him to use as a convenient distraction for the medic's temper, or at least as a lightening-rod to see if the rumours of the terrible Ratchet's works were true.

Though...the Autobots would surely be less cheerful around their CMO if he really _did_ rebuild them into buggies and worse on a regular basis. Or perhaps that was yet another gulf in their understanding of the other faction? Perhaps the Autobots thought that sort of thing was fun?

Stranger things had been done in this war. Most of them, admittedly, had been done in purple.

"-absolute _hooey!"_

Dead End rewound the last few seconds of conversation he'd missed and frowned in mild interest. Now what did the oddities of human slang have to do with numbers?

"It might still be a valid method, Ratchet," the other medic said placatingly, following along behind Ratchet as the ambulance stormed into the main part of the medbay. "There might be-"

"Like frag," the larger, scarier and angrier medic snapped back, waving the scanner he held like a baton. " _Nobody_ on this wreck is a carrier, including the 'Cons, not unless you can hide the sub- _systems_ in your sub- _space _pocket when you're not using them. Face it, without the Key we're stuck reproducing the Dinobot way."__

__Carrier? Dead End straightened slightly in entirely justifiable alarm at mention of the Dinobots, then smartly leaned back again as Ratchet turned and waggled the scanner under his nose in a decidedly worrying manner. "Hold still, you."_ _

__Dead End raised his hands placatingly. "Certainly. I can hardly leave before my escort does in any case, and I have no desire to be remade into anything less attractive." His escort, in this case a rather grumpy-looking Ironhide with a dented leg courtesy of Wildrider not watching where he was going when they left their cell-come-quarters that day, let out a loud snort from the next berth over where First Aid was gently working on the crunched-in knee._ _

__Ratchet...snickered. Did devil-medics usually snicker? Perhaps this would be a distraction capable of rousing him from his ennui before their inevitable demise! How delightful!_ _

__"Oh, well then," the medic deadpanned, red hands on red hips. "I'll make sure you're the best-looking toaster after Sunstreaker."_ _

__"Sunstreaker!" Dead End's mournful protest had First Aid let out a giggle, to Ironhide's chagrin; it felt decidedly weird to have a medic giggle into your knee, even a rather adorable youngling medic. "Foul! Whatever a toaster may be, I would leave a far better husk of one behind when it inevitably expires."_ _

__A lopsided grin had taken up residence with Ratchet's expression, and a glint had colonised his optics. Dead End wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but at least it would be interesting while it lasted. "You sure? I bet Sunstreaker'd make the better toast. Totally even on both sides."_ _

__"Spike and Carly have been complaining about the toaster in the human quarter ever since Wheeljack, ah, borrowed it," the green medic added almost apologetically. What was his name - Moist? Something unfortunately mundane, certainly._ _

__Ratchet just shrugged. "I said I'd look at it when I got time."_ _

__"You noticeably _didn't_ add that it was you who added the extra springs," Moist said in an undertone._ _

__Ratchet _cackled._ Dead End stared, only remembering to affect his usual boredom after a moment of incredulity. It was...different, this strange medbay where repairs were done with gentle hands disguised behind roughness and sly teasing. He wasn't sure what to make of it quite yet, but it would likely take quite some time for Ironhide's knee to be fully functional even if the old warrior was impatient to be off the berth and moving again - he would have time to observe._ _

__It might even be interesting._ _

__\-----------------_ _

__"Ta-da!" Sideswipe caroled, swaggering back over with his latest project in hand. Skywarp looked dubious; Sunstreaker didn't even bother looking up, slouched in one of the chairs at the battered rec room table and pretending to be engrossed with a polishing cloth. The twins were on Seeker-watch for that shift, and Sideswipe had somehow managed to gain Prowl's blessing to brew up high grade._ _

__Seeker-specialised high grade._ _

__Sunstreaker was keeping his head down, all his sensors on high and an I-told-you-so to hand._ _

__"Yeah, no. I'm not drinking anything you made," Skywarp said, giving the glowing cubes in Sideswipe's hands a rightly wary look. "Especially if I didn't see you make it."_ _

__"See if I ever do anything nice for you again," came the glib reply, Sideswipe thumping into the remaining free chair. Thundercracker snorted disdainfully, but didn't divert from his perpetually grouchy surveillance of the exits, apparently trusting Skywarp to do the same for the rest of the room - or at least make enough noise to give the other Seeker warning that something was up. One of the first things the Autobots had insisted on was that Skywarp's teleportation be disabled - 'showing their good intentions' had been the words used, when every single Decepticon there had no good intentions in their sparks whatsoever. Now, though, Thundercracker was wondering if maybe, _maybe_ this would hold, and _maybe_ they wouldn't end up in the same mess that started the war in the first place...not that the younglings on both sides even really _knew.__ _

__Either way, being unable to teleport made Skywarp twitchy, and Thundercracker allowed that the twins were at least ample distraction and a minimum of risk, as bizarre as it seemed. If he ever got his hands on the Aerialbrats who gave Skywarp the high grade, now... Well, he couldn't do much thanks to the truce, but he could still smack down snotty younglings as promptly as he ever could before the war._ _

__Skywarp had one of the cubes in hand by this point, and Thundercracker scanned it warily as his wingmate tilted it for inspection. "It looks like you put a Muppet in a blender," Skywarp said. "Then added a lava lamp."_ _

__"You know what The Muppets are?" Sideswipe blurted, a huge and not entirely trustworthy grin blooming. "Knocking my skill and expertise in blending aside, that's kinda weirdly cool."_ _

__"We could get internet under the ocean, y'know," Skywarp snarked back, still turning the cube around in his hands. "Monitor duty wasn't that great."_ _

__"Fair point." Apparently satisfied - at least for now, Sunstreaker knew his twin better than that - Sideswipe nodded to the pair of cubes. "You going to try that or just look at it? I need _somebody's_ feedback, and it _is_ supposed to be flier-fuel."_ _

__Both Seekers gave him a faintly disbelieving look; Thundercracker skeptical, Skywarp unamused. "Depends. You make this on orders or for fun?" Skywarp asked bluntly. "I don't much feel like getting my tanks washed out again."_ _

__To his credit, Sideswipe grimaced and held his hands up. "Okay, okay, it's under orders, signed off by Prowl AND Prime and you can get Ratchet to look at it first if you're _really_ doobious."_ _

__Thundercracker's optics narrowed, almost going as far as mouthing the mispronunciation as if to check he'd heard right; Skywarp, being more used to the internet, ignored it. "Coming from the jet-judo mech, ex-cuuuse my skeptical-ness. I don't wanna explode."_ _

__"Hey!"_ _

__"It won't."_ _

__Both jets glanced at Sunstreaker - he tilted his helm with a determinedly neutral expression. "He might be a moron, but he's good with high grade. And you're not so bad. It's not rigged."_ _

__"Awww, Sunshine, that was almost sweet!" Sideswipe grinned. "Careful, though, they'll start thinking you're secretly mushy and the judo's your version of flirting."_ _

__The Seekers glanced at each other, then back at Sideswipe; he was too amused at first to take stock of their more-guarded-than-usual expressions. "Sooo," Skywarp drew the word out long enough to catch their attention again. "It wasn't?"_ _

__Sideswipe reset his audials. "Wasn't what?"_ _

__"Flirting."_ _

__"What wasn't?"_ _

__"The grab-the-jets, bend-their-wings bit," Thundercracker rumbled. "We just figured Autobot frontliners were grabby."_ _

__"And clueless," Skywarp cut in._ _

__"Wha- _no!_ " Sideswipe spluttered, reaching a pitch very close to a squeak. "Wait, waitwaitwait, all this time you thought we were flirting? ...You thought we were BAD flirting?!"_ _

__Skywarp shrugged. "Pretty much. Those bitty-grounder Stunticons do when they want something, we figured you were the same. They're flashy cars too, apparently."_ _

__"You hold on _one microsecond,_ jet boy, if we were flirting with you you'd know about it!" This was crazy. The jets thought they'd been _flirting_ when they were fighting? Worse, they thought the twins had been flirting _badly?_ Sideswipe's reputation would never recover! "-And we weren't, for the record!"_ _

__"Good," Thundercracker rumbled, and Skywarp flashed him a sudden hot grin that made Sideswipe suddenly reconsider the not-flirting idea. Bad Sideswipe, bad bad BAD interface drive..._ _

__"Yeah," the Seeker drawled, very deliberately leaning over to tap his wingtip ever-so-delicately against Thundercracker's, and Sideswipe could have sworn the more withdrawn jet _quivered_ in his seat. "'Cause I'm a one-mech jet, and I don't share."_ _

__"Guh. I mean! I thought Seekers were all, y'know-" It wasn't like Sideswipe to fumble his words or fall over the bits of his remaining pride and dignity, but _what the actual frag._ "I mean, there's this rumour you guys are - uh - high maintenance?"_ _

__"Frag like turbobunnies, you mean."_ _

__"Yeah! ...uh." He could almost feel the-_ _

__//Nice going, moron.//_ _

__-disapproval radiating from Sunstreaker, but Skywarp just smirked._ _

__"As a matter of fact," he said, rising from the table with a studied grace that hinted both at Mirage in his snottier Towers-Noble moments and the _amazing things_ that could be done with flexible jointing in a berth, "we do. Seekers have real high performance systems, and we run _really_ hot."_ _

__Yeah. Hot. -bad interface drive! Bad!_ _

__"Sucks for you that we tend to be one-jet mechs," Skywarp snickered, and Sideswipe was so distracted at the way he draped himself over Thundercracker's shoulder intakes that what he'd actually _said_ didn't sink in right away._ _

__"Wait, hold up, Seekers are single-bonds?" he blurted. "You don't ever go with anyone else? _Ever?_ "_ _

__Both Seekers laughed out loud. Well, not all that loud in Thundercracker's case, but Skywarp certainly looked more animated than he had since that final battle._ _

__"Sorry, Auto-dork," he grinned, nuzzling pointedly against the top of Thundercracker's helm. "The porn vids lied. Me, I'm a one-jet mech, and this one jet's _mine._ "_ _

__\---------_ _

__"CANNONBAAAAAALL!"_ _

__Prowl raced out into the sunlight, transforming and glancing swiftly at the scene - Wildrider making a running jump to latch onto Sludge's tail, laughing wildly as the big Dinobot lashed at the small lake they gravitated to when they went outside, and Wheeljack-_ _

__...standing off to one side, arms folded and head cocked, and - seeming amused, if anything._ _

__"Just what is going on here?" Prowl asked, heading over to Wheeljack's side; one upside of the sheer amount of noise the Stunticons tended to make was that it was very easy to have a private conversation with even one of them nearby._ _

__The engineer just grinned, the helmfins either side of his face flashing cordially at Prowl. "Kinda cute, huh? I needed a break from working on those solar panels, so I came out and took over Wildrider-sitting for Inferno. Seems he's more used to quietly-twitchy, not loud and smashy."_ _

__"Cute?" Prowl frowned. "I'm not sure I see-"_ _

__"Sure you do," Wheeljack interrupted. "You just ain't readin' it right. Look - Wildrider's little compared to Sludge, but the kid's like a rubber ball. Even if Sludge treads on his pedes by accident, he doesn't even slow down! And it's helping Sludge with his spatial processing, too. Ratchet's gonna love this!"_ _

__"Ah-?"_ _

__"You know, the whole spatial reasoning thing. I've got this theory that the reason the Dinobots are so clumsy is they're not as in tune with their own frames as we are - it's the difference between sparked and non-sparked mechs, I guess. Plus the processor upgrades we're giving 'em have to go slowly so they don't get overwhelmed, and they're not gonna react as quick as we do to stimulus for a while. Kinda like oversized sparklings without the automatic inbuilt development cycle." Wheeljack's fins flickered wistfully, watching Wildrider's attempts to climb up the soaking wet, romping Dinobot and missing Prowl's muted flinch. "Really, really oversized, but I bet there's hardly anybody left who even remembers sparklings, anyway."_ _

__"Agreed," Prowl said softly. "Most of the remaining Autobots are too young or from the wrong city-states to have had sparklings as a fact of life, and I wouldn't care to guess at what the Decepticons know without more data."_ _

__"Heh, yeah."_ _

__The two stood together in silence for a moment; Prowl watching Wildrider's destructive energies spend themselves harmlessly on the water and the heavily-armoured, lumbering Dinobot, Wheeljack glowing with a sparker's pride as one of his creations began to make a friend._ _

__"Ya know," Wheeljack said with studied nonchalance, "I always figured ya didn't like the Dinobots much because of the mess with Optimus. I guess now part of it was bein' too young to remember much about sparklings and lilbits in general, so I understand why ya were hard on 'em to start with."_ _

__Startled, Prowl shot the other mech a wide opticed look, but Wheeljack's gaze was firmly locked onto the pair playing in the water. "I beg your pardon?"_ _

__"It's okay; developmentally speaking they don't really remember all that much from when they were first online. We were pretty lucky on that one. They're working out the trust issues all on their own, Grimlock only really clearly remembers the Optimus-is-in-charge bit and is okay with that, so-"_ _

__"...you're wrong, Wheeljack," Prowl said quietly. "I have plenty of experience with sparklings; that's precisely why I had such trouble with the Dinobots."_ _

__The tactician drew himself up, doorwings braced and held tall, clearly readying himself for a Ratchet-level dressing-down or, worse, hurt feelings worthy of an upset Prime. "I am used to sparklings being tiny and curious and _sparked._ I am less used to Sigma-sparked younglings, though I was batch-sparked myself, but I understand them - the Dinobots being sparkless, for all that I can see now that they are very much their own mechs in all the ways that matter, were so outside my experience that I couldn't understand them. I treated them like drones or AIs, and I have regretted it ever since and tried to make up for it as best I can." His voice softened, quieter than before and regretful. "I understand that you and Ratchet were rightly upset with the way they were treated when they were first brought online, and I apologise for that as well. I am sorry, to you and - and your sparklings."_ _

__"Wow," Wheeljack said faintly after a moment's pause. "Definitely wrong."_ _

__Prowl's doorwings twitched, chagrin colouring his stoic expression; Wheeljack hurried to keep going before another speech fell out. "No, no, I mean me. An' - yeah, I get where you're coming from, I really do - heck, it was hard enough on me an' Ratchet. We weren't expecting sparklings either, if I'm honest. The best we thought we'd do was maybe an AI, but they started learning an' growing an' their personalities started coming out..." Wheeljack could hear himself going all soft-sparked, but he couldn't help it - not with Prowl really listening to him, head cocked and waiting quietly. "They went from handy heavyweight fighters to these - these real, basic _people._ We didn't know what the slag we were doing either." He chuckled. "And heck, even if carriers weren't one in a hundred mechs, it's not like I ever imagined myself as a sparker - or even a guardian for a Sigma-sparked youngling as it developed. We're all learning as we go."_ _

__"If it helps at all," Prowl said quietly, "you and Ratchet would both have passed the Praxian requirements for sparkers with flying colours, together or seperately."_ _

__"...heh. Thanks, Prowl." Wheeljack gave the other mech a grin, helmfins flashing merrily again. "So, how come you know about sparklings? That an Enforcer thing?"_ _

__"Of course," Prowl said in some puzzlement. "I realise the Iacon Enforcers organised things rather differently, given that that was where Vector Sigma's access point was located, but surely their Enforcers and priests worked together."_ _

__"Huh?"_ _

__"The Iacon Enforcers," Prowl prompted, then looked a little nonplussed at Wheeljack's continued puzzlement. "Surely they can't be all that different. I only served in Praxus, personally, but certainly while I was in the Enforcers I was aware of the regulations concerning sparking and guardianship well before I carried any sparklings myself-"_ _

__Wheeljack _sputtered._ "Hold up, you _what?!_ "_ _

__\-----------_ _

__Of all the Decepticons, Breakdown was one of the few who flat-out refused to leave the cell. Room. Whatever they wanted to call it. ...Didn't matter. If he went _outside,_ they would all stare at him. The others all groaned or threw mocking punches at him, or in Drag Strip's case made a valiant effort to roll his optics like the humans did on TV, but he refused. That big red firetruck had been hanging around outside their door for a while, trying to talk him into coming out - and he was good, Breakdown had to admit, not even looking into the room and talking to empty air - but he wasn't. Going. It was bad enough that the Autobots' security director was a thing of nightmares, the mythical Red Alert - Breakdown had never seen the mech, not even a screencap or a still, but Onslaught sometimes groused about old tactics that had been smashed wide open by Prowl or bases that became deathtraps when Red Alert so much as flicked a servo over their defences. Breakdown wasn't stupid; he wasn't going out._ _

__As far as he was concerned, the war being over didn't matter all that much. Motormaster was still trying to smash up Optimus Prime, even if he had come back kinda confused and quieter the past few days; Wildrider was still a chip short of a full processor, talking about playing tag with Dinobots; Drag Strip was grumpy and preoccupied, which was weird, and _someone_ had been replaying Megatron getting shot in recharge, which was downright disturbing, whoever it was. And Dead End... Breakdown wasn't talking to Dead End. The other Stunticon hadn't argued when they'd been told they could only go out with a guard each - the word they'd used was 'escort', which had them snickering and catcalling until the Autobot 2iC had clarified with a Look that had shut Drag Strip right up - but he hadn't said he'd stay in the cell, either._ _

__Breakdown had been kinda hoping he would. It was easier to handle knowing everyone was out to get you with someone pessimistic enough not to care._ _

__Only now Dead End was all thoughtful, and not the usual kind of thoughtful that meant Breakdown could coax him out of it with a 'face or two so long as his polish didn't get scuffed. He'd almost seemed eager to go out every day, which Breakdown flat-out didn't understand and frankly didn't want to - if Dead End didn't want to stay here, fine. Let him. Dead End wouldn't care if everyone was staring and plotting behind his back in that medbay of his anyway._ _

__The very thought made him queasy all over again, his engine whining fitfully, but the stupid Autobots had upgraded from the barred cells they'd escaped from that one time. Now they were stuck in a solid room that had been hacked out of the mountain, a window with transparisteel too thick to punch through that looked over the plain, with basic, tough berths that were bolted to the walls and floor - everything clearly built to their specs and made for them, and that made Breakdown want to climb out of his plating with horror._ _

__"Hey, youngling."_ _

__Oh, slaggin' great._ _

__"Get lost," he growled into the plating of his arm, not looking up from his huddle behind the foot of his berth._ _

__Inferno didn't take offence, leaning against the side of the open cell door and carefully not looking into the room. "Just checkin' in, kid. Rest a' your gestalt's out 'n about, doncha wanna-?"_ _

__"No!" Breakdown snapped. "I know what you're doing, you just want to get me outside where you'll all stare at me! I'm not gonna fall for it!"_ _

__"Easy, bit," Inferno began soothingly, but his regular coax-the-carboy session was interrupted by the rapid-fire pedefalls of one mech he _hadn't_ expected._ _

__"Inferno!" came a familiar crisp voice. "I am receiving reports of unauthorised surveillance by a human broadcasting vehicle-"_ _

__Breakdown peered cautiously around the end of the berth - there was no guarantee this wasn't some new plan to winkle him out of his cell, but you couldn't guard against something you didn't know. The new guy was...unimpressive, but then he _was_ an Autobot. Short, stocky, medic's colours - how many did they need, anyway? - and definitely an officer. Breakdown had never met an officer that _wasn't_ cranky, aside from maybe that Prowl mech. Or Optimus Prime, but he didn't count. Mech like that, you only knew he was real once you'd hit him a few times._ _

__"-ending out Hound to remove them. And why are you still in your cell?"_ _

__The unexpected interrogative had Breakdown jumping and trying to dig into the wall behind him. "Gah!"_ _

__The new officer was standing staring _right at him,_ blue optics narrowed and bright; Breakdown promptly ducked behind the berth, tucking his legs up as tight as he could. "Ge-get lost, Auto-dork!" he quavered, the rising whine of his engine belying the bravado. "Go stare at somebody else!"_ _

__"I can and will stare at anybody I choose," the officer said tartly; Breakdown was reminded of Starscream at his most prissy and barely stifled a hysterical giggle. "You are the only Stunticon not to leave your cell since arriving, and I want to know why. What are you plotting?"_ _

__"I oughta ask you the same question! Quit staring!" Breakdown scrunched up even smaller, his plating beginning to rattle along to the vibration of his engine. "I know you're all gonna get me soon as I go outside!"_ _

__There was a drawn-out, ominous pause._ _

__"And why," the officer said in a voice that, to Breakdown, spoke eloquently of something Very Unpleasant happening to someone in the very near future, "do you think that? Has someone threatened you? If anyone on this base has broken even one sub-clause of the truce arrangement, Decepticon or Autobot, I'll-! Inferno, you stand guard right here while I check the surveillance footage, I need to contact Prowl!"_ _

__"......uh." Even through his rising panic, that - didn't sound right. Breakdown risked a bewildered and highly suspicious glance over the end of the berth - Short Officer looked furious, as stiff as Onslaught on a real bad day and ready to blow. "Threatened?"_ _

__"Of course!" Those blue-hot optics swept over him again and Breakdown ducked back behind the berth. "If any mech of either faction offers a threat of violence either physical or verbal to another mech of either faction, said mech shall be imprisoned in the brig until a full investigation has taken place, led by-"_ _

__"Red?" Inferno broke in gently. "Think you're scarin' him a little, there. Kid just don't like bein' stared at, that's why he ain't gone out."_ _

__"He what?"_ _

__Officer Probably-Not-A-Medic sounded...something other than angry. That was - good, maybe? If he wasn't angry and talking to the fire truck, he wouldn't be looking at Breakdown. He peered gingerly over the end of the berth, fuel pump hammering to keep up with the demands of his overstressed engine and almost sparking with anxiety, only to see the officer looking...weird. Not angry, at least, but there was a look on his face Breakdown couldn't interpret, and that only meant bad things as far as the Stunticon was concerned. The other Autobot had a hand on the shorter officer's shoulder, and it didn't _really_ look like he was being restrained, although any Decepticon would have shrugged it off even if the touch was secretly appreciated and saving face for them. For the first time, Breakdown wished he knew more about Autobots so he could figure out what the frag was going on._ _

__"So," he said slowly, then flinched when it looked like the officer was going to turn his way._ _

__"I won't look in your direction if it makes you uncomfortable," the Autobot said a little stiffly, and the other one nodded encouragingly as he gazed off at the far wall. "We are supposed to be under a truce."_ _

__"....uh," Breakdown said again, not at all sure where this was going. "Okay?"_ _

__Apparently that wasn't enough. "We are under a truce," the officer repeated, his tone more sure than before, and Breakdown could _not_ figure out why the other Autobot was starting to smile where the officer couldn't see. "And that means no-one of either faction can break the terms of said truce with impunity. If anyone _had_ threatened you, or does at any point, I will _deal_ with it. And the reverse is true," he said, stabbing a finger in the air at an angle that was reassuringly nowhere near where Breakdown was sitting, "if you OR your gestalt threaten or attempt to harm anyone else of either faction. I will not stand for this truce being disrupted or those under my watch harmed!"_ _

__Funny thing was, Breakdown was really starting to believe him. That was.....weirdly kind of hot, too, having someone and in authority determinedly on _his_ side for once, and the whine of his engine downshifted into something deeper as blind panic receded. "Right," he managed. "No breaking the truce."_ _

__"Or having anyone break the truce to harm you," the officer repeated firmly. "The consequences will be severe."_ _

__...Okay, that was more reassuring than any fancy fluff Optimus Prime came out with. Action and reaction Breakdown could understand - it was the terror of the unknowable that made his paranoia and panic spike. "Sure. I got it."_ _

__"Good. Although you will have to leave your cell eventually. You can hardly spend your entire functioning there." The officer's helm tilted, seeming to study the bright orange ceiling of the hallway. "Every room outside of personal quarters and washracks are monitored for safety reasons-"_ _

__"No way! I'm not going out and getting stared at-"_ _

__" _Everyone_ is watched, impartially and without bias, from Optimus Prime downwards," the officer said smartly. "In this case, your fears are entirely unjustified - you _are_ being watched, but we are _not_ out to get you. Far from it; it is for everyone's protection. Imagine if you were attacked in the hallway and no-one saw your attacker, or if-"_ _

__"Ah, maybe that's plenty examples," Inferno said tactfully. "Either way, though, he's right - ain't you Red's watchin', it's everybody. It's his job an' all."_ _

__"And I hardly spend all my time watching everyone. Why, if I did, I would have no time to run checks on the perimeter sensor grids or test the security systems or-"_ _

__" _You're_ Red Alert?" Breakdown squeaked, his optics wide - he'd just blurted everything out to the scariest Autobot he could possibly think of!_ _

__...and..._ _

__...been told it was nothing personal._ _

__Huh._ _

__Maybe just the hallway wouldn't be so bad, if it was only Red Alert's cameras watching._ _

__\-------------_ _

__Prowl calmly went over the patrol schedules for the next several days in the back of his processor, letting the routine task run as he tapped at a datapad and considered the state of the truce thus far. To everyone's surprise, the jokingly dubbed 'Big Brother Initiative' was working remarkably well with Motormaster. Those who had had siblings - split-spark or otherwise - had been willing to talk to Optimus and Prowl about dealing with uneven relationships and what it felt like to have siblings at all, and Optimus' tentative efforts to stop being the inspirational, rather untouchable leader had had the side benefit of allowing him to blow off a little steam too. Seeing the two big semis 'roughhousing', as a semi-disapproving Ironhide had put it, was doing them both good. Optimus was much less stressed than he had been - the tense diplomatic wrangling he was doing had taken its toll. Motormaster didn't seem to know what to make of the whole thing, but the confused cessation of hostilities was being seen as hopeful, and not just by the Autobot officers._ _

__Breakdown, to everyone's amazement, actually seemed to have struck up a friendship with Red Alert - the security director seemed to be quite fiercely protective of the younger mech, in fact, and Inferno only smiled and refused to say why. While Prowl certainly hadn't seen it coming, he was encouraging Red Alert as subtly as he could, and while Red seemed to notice, Prowl made a point of making sure the Stunticon didn't. The last thing they needed was a potential cross-faction tie going sour through overmuch meddling._ _

__The Constructicons were still finding it hard to settle down and find a place in the truce, but Optimus had had a word with Grapple about expanding the Ark - perhaps even relocating entirely - and from the utter delight in the architect's expression there may well be better prospects for the combiner team in the near future...and they wouldn't be relegated to the medbay when the Autobots had medics aplenty, even with Dead End perching on one of the berths like a cheerily morbid raven. Ratchet seemed to find the Stunticon's dry wit refreshing, and it made a welcome change to hear him laughing rather than giving other mechs the sharp edge of his glossa. Sideswipe's wild-opticed look of disbelief had almost had Prowl himself giggling then and there, if it hadn't been for thoughts of the inevitable crash the frontliner would have suffered as a result. The red terror had been looking to Prowl for reassurance, consciously or not, and Prowl did hate to disappoint his people._ _

__Wildrider seemed to have found, if not kindred spirits, then playmates who were equally as boisterous and destructive as he was in the Dinobots, and Wheeljack was hopeful that he might be able to stand as a mentor or guardian to the young mech if it continued. And Drag Strip...well, Drag Strip had taken to peering at Prowl out of the corner of his optic when he thought Prowl couldn't see him, which would need addressing in the near future. Contrary to what Sideswipe seemed to believe - Prowl was quietly sure Sunstreaker was both more observant and more socially astute than most gave him credit for, including his twin, and had been the one to call off the twins' early attempts at flirting with him - Prowl was not oblivious, nor had he been entirely untouched before meeting Jazz. He had been even more harried than usual lately, but as the truce began to settle down, perhaps he could take Drag Strip in hand himself. He'd already had a talk with Jazz..._ _

__Ah. The shouting had died down a little. Prowl set aside his mental notes on the current state of the truce - his _mother-henning_ , as Jazz put it - and politely gave the rather ruffled officer's meeting the rest of his attention._ _

__"-hen you were going to TELL us about this!"_ _

__...now that was uncalled-for. "I assumed you knew," he replied calmly to Ratchet, and that promptly set everyone to exclaiming again._ _

__"You all know I was a Praxian Enforcer," Prowl cut in through the babble. "As far as I was aware, all Enforcers in the other city-states were also carriers and guardians. It seemed perfectly logical. And in any case, it does us very little good at present."_ _

__"And why's that, exactly?" Ratchet demanded, optics hot and wrathful. "And you can explain how the frag you're a carrier when I know for a fact that _nobody_ on this wreck of a ship has the coding!"_ _

__"I do have carrier coding, but it has been dormant throughout the course of the war, for obvious reasons. It's not something I can control in that respect."_ _

__Ratchet snorted, arms folded across his bulky chest, and Prowl was horribly aware of Jazz sitting silent and still beside him. Jazz was rarely silent and never still in these meetings..._ _

__Prowl gathered himself up, and with a glance at Prime took the floor for a more unusual kind of briefing._ _

__"Carriers were as rare in Praxus as elsewhere on Cybertron, approximately one to every hundred mechs. Carried sparks did not automatically become carriers, and younglings from Vector Sigma had the same chance of being a carrier in turn - it is a spark difference that affects the frame, in the same way that placing a spark in a youngling frame results in plating colour changing, and the other alterations a spark makes to the frame that houses it." Prowl glanced at Ratchet, but aside from a deep, quelling glower, the medic merely waved a hand impatiently for him to get to something they _didn't_ know._ _

__"What seems to have been the chief difference between Praxus and other city-states was that Primus was revered primarily as a creator, and carrier mechs were granted extensions of that respect. Carriers didn't have to become priests, of course, but most gravitated to the temple-"_ _

__"Hold up," Ironhide interrupted. "Enforcers ain't priests."_ _

__"They were considered priests in Praxus. Shield and guardian, one who carried Primus' children and protected them even against each other." Prowl's bearing was military-perfect, his voice steady and level, but there was an ache in his optics that made Ratchet think suddenly of Bluestreak. "The temple doubled as barracks, training grounds and base for those who chose to become Enforcers, and archive, medbay and quarters for those who did not. Not every carrier became an Enforcer, and not every Enforcer was a carrier, but the best Enforcers were those who could react to the sparks of those around them. It - came naturally to carriers, being able to feel sparks around them, almost like a network of the lives they protected. We took a term working as Enforcers, then one to ourselves - either to carry a newspark for a petitioner, work in the archives, meditate...hence the phrase 'carrying to term', I believe._ _

__"When Praxus was attacked-" Prowl's voice wobbled and no few officers winced. "The sheer number of sparks extinguished registered as catastrophic to anyone with carrier coding. The shock of so many deaths resulted in the offlining of at least three nearby carriers more sensitive than most to picking up spark fields, and since then I have been unable to register anything even - even from nearby sparks, with the coding dormant."_ _

__In the quiet that followed, Jazz's hand curled around Prowl's under the table. Prowl squeezed it gratefully, thanking Primus and Jazz alike for the beloved other half of his spark._ _

__"In light of this," Optimus rumbled softly, sympathy in his voice even as the question burned in the air, "what would it take for carrier coding to reactivate?"_ _

__Jazz's hand tightened on Prowl's._ _

__"I'm not entirely certain," Prowl said quietly. "I think, from what I remember of my earliest lessons, it requires enough resources for a period of time long enough to signify economic stability, and...safety." His gaze met Optimus', slower than usual but as unflinching as ever. "This is an unprecedented situation, and I have no idea how to quantify that."_ _

__Optimus' optics crinkled faintly at the corners, a sad smile touching his expression. "Safety is one of the many things which have been in very short supply lately," he sighed. "Very well. Prowl, it's up to you if you wish this to become common knowledge, but anyone pestering or being overly attentive about this is to be discouraged. Politely, but firmly."_ _

__"Thank you, Optimus, but I truly thought it was an open secret rather than the reverse." Prowl's doorwings twitched, the most uncertainty he would allow himself in front of the officers who had become his family. "And if it were to become an option again...I would like to carry for others again. The dangers of our low population numbers aside, I miss it."_ _

__\-------------_ _

__"Are you angry with me?"_ _

__Prowl's voice was quiet, but Jazz hadn't said a word since the officer's meeting, simply tugged him along by the hand to their quarters before letting go to shut and lock the door. At the words Jazz stiffened, then blew hot air through all his vents until they rattled._ _

__"Nah," he said without turning around. "Just - kinda a lot ta take in, babe."_ _

__"I wasn't trying to keep any secrets," Prowl managed, then met Jazz's flaring visor with his head up - he had nothing to be apologetic about on that score. Praxus had been a nightmare; he'd been barely aware of anything at all for days afterwards, had latched onto the single other survivor in their emergency rescue station as soon as they had both recovered enough to come online without assistance. Mercifully a grieving carrier had been just what Bluestreak had needed, and the youngling's verbal coping tic and initial clinginess had helped ground Prowl when he could feel nothing at all of the sparks around him. They had each had their share of nightmares and helped each other through what they could, and though the younger mech was full grown by now it was still almost as though they had shared a sparkling bond. Perhaps naively, both he and Bluestreak had simply assumed the medics outside Praxus were simply being kind by not talking about sensing sparks - it hurt, after all this time, to think that perhaps they had simply thought Prowl was delusional with grief or damage when he woke into a world where he felt no-one at all._ _

__Jazz turned and stalked over to him, hands already gesticulating wildly. "That's it? Y'think I'm mad about _that?_ Fraggit, mech, y'all _know_ I got my share o'secrets in this job an' worse!"_ _

__"Then what-" Prowl began, confused and starting to worry in earnest, then Jazz grabbed his shoulders and yanked him close too fast to adjust for their bumpers and scraping their paint._ _

__"You slag-crazy mech," he growled into Prowl's audial. "All them times y'all nearly got killed - all that self-sacrificin' stuff - I swear ta fraggin' Primus I'm never lettin' you outta my sight again!"_ _

__"Language," Prowl managed through the unaccountable static in his vocaliser, tentatively letting his hands settle on Jazz's hips, and mercifully Jazz started to laugh. "You- Man, Prowler, you are seriously somethin' else," he gurgled, then angled his helm for a kiss that Prowl was all too glad to melt into._ _

__//You're not upset?// he commed, too anxious to let it rest even through one of Jazz's that-was-an-awful-mission kisses. //I didn't know how much all of this varied between city-states, there was never time to think about it and it wasn't a priority until now-//_ _

__Jazz broke the kiss off then and looked at him, head cocked and a brief smile appearing and fading in an instant. "Seriously, Prowler?" he said, visor meeting Prowl's optics with a gravity few would believe of him. "I don't get all of it, an' you an' me are gonna have a real debrief in here all private-like, but I ain't upset. I just - slag, when I think 'bout all those times you got hurt, an' you're th'only carrier we got now..."_ _

__He shook his helm sharply before Prowl could attempt to comfort him, then squeezed his partner rather more gently. "So how's this work? I gotta share your spark with anybody who wants a lil' bit?"_ _

__"No," Prowl said firmly, seeing the uncertainty Jazz hid under a breezy tone. "My spark is yours, and yours is mine, and that will never change." He kissed Jazz insistently, feeling a thrumming tension in Jazz's struts quietly melt away into reassurance. "Tactile and data-sharing is one thing, but sparks are ours. ...And that is not how it works."_ _

__Jazz gave him a grin then, relief and growing excitement beginning to shine through his visor. "So? Brief me, babe. We got all th'time we're ever gonna need, now."_ _

__"Yes," Prowl murmured, dawning understanding and a relief of his own making his spark feel lighter, expanding into brightness as a hope he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge finally began to bloom. "Yes. We have time now."_ _

__They sat on the berth and cuddled close, and Prowl explained - a carrier's role of surrogate to a mech, or pair, trine or greater number wishing to spark; the quiet, private moment between tender lovers or the glowing joy of sharing it with cohort and friends as the sparkers merged to spin off a tiny, tiny seed of energy, a newspark, caught and drawn in by the finest metalmesh from a carrier's spark chamber that becomes a tiny spark casing itself..._ _

__Jazz listened through all of it, filing away every scrap of information and asking questions with a giddy, delighted bewilderment, his head reeling. "So," he murmured when Prowl ran quiet, half-lying with his helm resting on Prowl's midsection and imagining what it would sound like to have a tiny frame being assembled there. "How'll ya know if th'coding comes online?"_ _

__"I don't know," Prowl replied quietly, his hand stroking lightly over Jazz's helm. Jazz hummed contentedly and nuzzled closer, his arm tightening around Prowl's waist. "I suppose...we have the time to find out. Although I do want to settle something about Drag Strip before we think about any more little ones."_ _

__"Hold up, more?" Jazz snickered. "So I was right! Y'all were so mother-henning!"_ _

__"Perhaps," Prowl replied contentedly, sounding more relaxed and at peace than Jazz could ever remember. "But that still does not mean you can make chocobo noises at me in front of the others."_ _

__"Awwww~"_ _

__"No, Jazz."_ _

__"Y'all are just no fun, Prowler," Jazz said happily, and nestled up under Prowl's bumper._ _

__As a result, he was perfectly placed to hear the faint _whummm_ of what sounded like a tiny secondary engine turning over, deep in Prowl's chassis._ _

__\--------------_ _

__Drag Strip supposed, after all this, Autobots weren't so bad._ _

__It had been months since the truce. Some of the other 'Cons still groused about adapting to the squishies' time units, but it wasn't so bad - Spike had told them about monster truck rallies and Carly told really gruesome medbay repair stories, so as organics went they were all right, as far as Drag Strip was concerned._ _

__Optimus had bewildered Motormaster into submission round about when Basketball was introduced. Ratchet had made noises about positive reinforcement, but Dead End muttered something dry about the big blue firetruck Optimus had recruited into playing with them and it had devolved into a snarking match. Red Alert and Breakdown had taken turns keeping score, it went on for so long, but by that point Wildrider had long since got bored and wandered off to see if the Dinobots wanted to watch Jurassic Park 3 again. (Silly question.) And as for himself..._ _

__"Drag Strip."_ _

__A little shiver ran up his backstrut at the voice; smooth and faintly amused, the engine behind it sounding deeper and fuller than it once had, but Drag Strip deliberately didn't look up right away. "Yeah?"_ _

__"Yes _sir,_ " Prowl said firmly, and watched with recharge-warm satisfaction as Drag Strip quivered again. "You know how to address an officer."_ _

__"Yes _sir,_ " the Stunticon blurted, optics darting over to Prowl; half reclined on a low couch, one that Grapple had designed with doorwings and rapidly increasing mass in mind, Prowl was all gleaming plating and glossy chrome from more offers to help with his wax job than he knew what to do with. He'd gone through the hot, uncomfortable heavy-building stage of carrying and now had entered the final few days where tiny processors were completed, slow and sleepy and unable to so much as twitch without someone offering to do it for him, and he was still very much the boss of anyone short of Optimus Prime._ _

__Slag, he was _hot.__ _

__"Fetch me a cube of coolant, please. And the blue datapad."_ _

__Skywarp and Thundercracker had won the draw to be the first sparkers, much to Ratchet's nigh-hysteria when he found out that Seekers spark in _threes._ Prowl's optics had lit up with a worrying glee, one that Jazz knew well if the half dismayed, half amused grin had been anything to go by, and Drag Strip privately bet to himself that the officer could and _would_ repopulate Cybertron all on his lonesome. Any mech who refused to stick to a berth until the last few days of growing to the size of a slaggin' _shuttle_ and kept working all cool and collected and _sexy as all get-out_ could do anything he slaggin' well wanted._ _

__So long as Drag Strip got to hang around in the meantime, he didn't mind one bit. And besides, it might even be fun not being the youngest anymore. The Aerials and the other Stunticons had all been kind of hanging around Prowl's office-come-reception room a lot, not that they were the only ones; Jazz had practically turned it into a second set of quarters, and Prowl looked kind of glad to have so many people poke their heads in all the time when he got too heavy to move around much. They'd needed a few lessons on grabby-hands and irate carriers before they learned how careful was _careful,_ but Prowl had been patient even then. ...Jazz hadn't been so much, though. Mech was _scary_ about Prowl. And the Seekers had yelled. Even Starscream, though he seemed to be spending a lot more time hanging around that big white shuttle these days. Something about Seekers being stubborn-aft single-bonds._ _

__Drag Strip grinned. As far as he was concerned, Seekers were missing out. You could keep your single-bonds and wing fetishes; officer kink was so much cooler, especially when they let you join in on the after-hours 'officer meetings'. "Yes _sir._ ”_ _


End file.
